Spot's Diary
by The Omniscient Bookseller
Summary: The time of the strike from Spot's point of view. I wrote this two or three sentances at a time and at very infrequent intervals, so forgive me if the writing style changes occasionaly. *I FINISHED I FINISHED I FINISHED OH MY GOD IT'S DONE!!!!!!*
1. Day 1

I shouldn't be doing this. It's not normal. It's not _right_. A leader shouldn't think about killing himself. Shouldn't--

Maybe I'll turn control over to Rabbit. He deserves it. More than me.

I won't cry. Won't let myself. Haven't since…I don't even remember. Before I became a newsie, that's for sure. 

I can't remember ever feeling this low before. This…hopeless.

My selling is worse than it's ever been. If I hadn't claimed the best spot I Brooklyn ages ago, I would've been awfully hungry these past few nights. But, by all rights, I should be hungry. I've barely eaten today. It doesn't matter, though. I don't want to.

Sitting here, staring out over the roofs of Brooklyn, I can barely feel the sting. If I don't look down, maybe I can forget. But when I do, I know there will a scar. Another.

I can't stop this. The thing is, no one else would stop me either. If one of my newsies saw me here, like this, they wouldn't do anything. And whose fault is that? Mine. I've given them such a respect of me, of my temper, my moods, my feelings- they wouldn't dare try to stop me. Except for maybe Rabbit. Which is why he can't find out. 

Godamnit, why am I doing this to myself? My life has always been pretty fucked up, but I could always cope before. What's different now? What threw me over the edge? 

The problem is, I know exactly what did it.


	2. Day 2

I decided not to sell today. I was sitting at the docks, thinking- trying to make myself feel a little better- when I caught sight of Jack and two other newsies making their way towards me. I started and looked closer. Was-- no. Jack, Boots, and a newsie I'd never seen before were the delegation. I watched Rabbit confront him- he knew I was in no state for dealing with Jack today. He was going to make a great leader- had so much more compassion in him than I did. Or than I showed. All the boys were comfortable around him, respected him for better reasons than his temper and violent tendencies. I shook my head to rid it of thoughts like those. I could deal with them later; I was doing a little better today and couldn't afford to waste that.

What could Jack want to see me about? He looked serious…oh, yes. I remembered now. Rabbit had told me that he and his newsies were trying to go on strike, trying to get the price of the newspapers back to normal. Well, here he was. I pulled a cold mask over my face and my thoughts and climbed down, careful not to let the inside of my wrists show. Jack was my friend, despite everything, and I didn't think I could deal with what he was bound to give me if he saw. 

I definitely wasn't prepared for what he told me. It took all my self-control to keep up my act. He wanted me to join the strike- and to come to Manhattan to help him. Manhattan? Now? I didn't think I could survive Manhattan. Because staying in Manhattan meant….

I made up some nonsense about not believing he was serious. Of course he was serious. I knew Jack, I knew him well. When he got an idea like this he was always too serious, almost obsessive. To tell the truth, I would have happily joined him in the strike- selling wasn't doing me much good lately anyway, and I was rather upset by the paper's new price, it just wasn't the first issue on my mind. If I'd told him that, though, he would've had to know why I wouldn't come to Manhattan with him. And he would've realized that something was wrong. And I wouldn't let him.

Sitting here on the roof, though, toying with the razor blade, I wonder if I did the right thing. I honestly don't know if I could handle Manhattan right now, but Jack deserves my help. And my boys deserve the chance to help. What would Rabbit have done? I know the answer, but I don't want to admit it. He would've put aside his problems and gone to Manhattan without a second thought. 

I'm not fit to lead here anymore. Time I left off. Where would I go, though? Couldn't stay here. That's like saying "I'm too weak to be your leader, but I'll still take advantage of your kindness". Jack would take me in; I know it, but that means Manhattan, and the Manhattan lodging house, and the Manhattan boys, and that means….

I throw the razor blade in a sudden violent jerk and watch it clatter to the shingles. I'll fix this. I will. I can lead Brooklyn. Maybe not as well as I used to, but I can lead.


	3. Day 3

Of all days to wake up late. I probably shouldn't have been so surprised, though, considering the night I'd had. Thank God I'd left the razor out on the roof where I'd thrown it. Otherwise I would have been such a mess this morning that someone would have done something. 

I hadn't told anyone what Jack's visit yesterday had been about, so they were a little surprised when I told them to forget selling today, we were going to go help out Jackie's newsies with their strike. Except for Rabbit. He was probably more surprised when I hadn't rounded them all up and headed for Manhattan yesterday after when Jack came. He knows something is wrong, I'm sure. Gotta be more careful.

Heading for the Lodging House, we heard a brawl a couple of streets away. Most of my boys wanted to join in immediately- they're like that. I made them see what was happening first. From a rooftop I looked down on the fray and felt the guilt settle in the pit of my stomach. Jack and his boys were fighting- and losing to, by the looks of it- other newsies and policemen. I'd bet anything that this was about the strike. I couldn't believe that I'd let Jack and his boys get into trouble-into danger- like this, just because I didn't want to see-

There he was. Well, I couldn't have let that stop me!

And so Brooklyn joined the fight.


	4. Day 4

I stayed in Manhattan last night. There really wasn't a way that I couldn't. The rest of the boys went back, with Rabbit in charge, of course, under strict orders not to sell. 

I was talking to Jack about the strike this morning. He's worried, though you wouldn't know it to see him. Worried about his boys, that they would be hurt, that the strike would go on too long and they would go hungry. A true leader, he is. Like Rabbit.

We went to Tibby's for lunch. While we were eating this reporter who had apparently made friends with Jack came in with a copy of the Sun. Immediately, and uproar started in that side of the restaurant. I headed over and got the surprise of my life. There, on the front page, was a huge picture of all of the Newsies, myself included, and an article about the strike. Me, on the front page. Who would've thought?

There's to be a rally tomorrow. Newsies from all over New York are coming to hear Jack speak about the strike. He asked me if I'd stand with him. Guess I have to.

Damn, he's cute. A few bucks away, watching me. I'm trying my hardest not to return the favor. I still can't believe what just happened. A little while ago, he came over here and sat, facing me. After a minute, he spoke softly.

"Spot? Is something wrong?"

Was it that obvious? I didn't say anything. 

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

I wanted to stop lying. Of course I'm not okay. I wanted to tell him everything. But he's the one person I cannot tell. Suddenly, he interrupted my thoughts.

"Spot, let me see your hands."

Damn. Damn, damn, _damn_! But what could I have done. I extended them carefully, palms down, and kept my eyes on his face as he gently turned them over. The expressions that fought for control would have been amusing at any other time, but I was not particularly in the mood to be amused. 

Wordlessly, he pulled me into a hug and held me for a long moment. I'm ashamed to say I enjoyed it, despite everything. He didn't say anything when he finally let me pull away, but his question was clear anyway. Everything in his manner begged me to trust him, to tell him. I couldn't, though. 

It took him almost an hour to give up- though I have a feeling I'll be going through the same thing tomorrow night, and the night after, and until this strike is over and I can escape back to Brooklyn. I can't help but wonder what he'll do about it. If he tells Jack…. But I don't think he'd do something like that. At least I hope not.

I turn the other way and close my eyes, wishing they were all asleep so I could do what I have to. 


	5. Day 5

You'd never know that it's summer outside. In here it's dark and cool. The kind of stale, wet, clinging cool that sends you shivering into a corner. At least I'm in long sleeves. I pity the others, who aren't. 

The rally was just a few hours ago. Irving hall was packed. I didn't think that many newsies existed! Jack gave some speech about not soaking the scabs. Of all things. He did have some pretty good reasons, though. I guess he knows what he's doing. At least I hope he does. I'll back him, whatever it is. I trust him.

As soon as Jack finished, Medda came onstage. For all I know, she was as big an attraction as Jack- maybe bigger. Everyone was singing along, dancing, whatever. And then Warden Snyder showed up.

It didn't take long. He had the bulls surround the place while we were all inside, screaming our heads off for Medda like fools. Which isn't to say we aren't fools. 

And so we were all thrown down here in a couple of cells until we go to court tomorrow. I never imagined something like this would happen. And on a day like today, it's the last thing I need.

I was watching him at rally today. Watching him watch Medda.

I wish they hadn't taken away my razor.


	6. Day 6

If I never claimed it, how can I disclaim it?

It's so beautiful up here. I'd forgotten how quiet it is, so far above the city. Oh, it's good to be back- in a sense. 

Don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow. At least I have an option, though. Two weeks at the refuge, I would've had. 

Not exactly somewhere I wanted to be- or that would have been good for me. But, through no action of mine, I'm free. 

The reporter Denton came and payed us all out. Damn good timing, too. We were walking from the courthouse to Tibby's 

when Dares jogged up, panting. He'd come all the way from Brooklyn with the news that over half the boys are real sick. 

Including Rabbit. 

So here I am, back on this familiar roof with my own thoughts. I'm stretched too thin. No one sees the real me 

anymore, covered by reputation and rumor. Everyone knows and fears Spot Conlon. Inside, though, I'm just the next kid. 

For no reason I can come up with, this has been one of my best days. I don't really want to think about what would've 

done-been doing now- if this had happened yesterday, or two days ago. Maybe I'm getting better. I doubt it, though. I 

needed a break from watching him all the time, from being faced with what I can't have at every turn. But…

I can't just leave Brooklyn, but I can't leave Manhattan either. I'm the next in line to lead them, I'm the one they'll 

look to. 

God knows why.


	7. Day 7

Just for all you screaming (for my murder, probably) fans out there, something I noticed. Race's diary starts one day earlier than Spot's. So, Spot's day 1 is Race's day 2, etc. Make sense? Good. 

One extra note for this chapter: angry Spot uses lots of profanity. Be forewarned.

*Yells off a cliff* I don't own the newsies! *echo* newsies….sies….s…

~*~

How could he do this? What was he thinking?! Fucking bastard. It goes against everything he's ever said, everything he's made us believe in. It goes against every word of every friendship, every agreement. And for money. For fucking money! I hope someone steals it all and beats him up while they're at it.

And _he's_ been watching me. I think he's afraid of what this'll make me do. Hey, don't worry, I'm more in a mood for killing someone else. I wish he hadn't found out.

Damn bastard. What was he thinking, doing this to us?

Doing this to me?


	8. Day 8

Disney's. Period. End of story. 

Note: If it was really that confusing, I'm sorry. The last chapter Spot was mad at Jack for being a scab. Make sense now? Oh, and this one might not be too clear, either. It will make sense next chapter. 

Note the second: I only have to write days 9 and 10, which I have planned out. I wrote 11 a while ago. And then this will be done! *throws confetti*

There's something I should be doing, I know it. It's just at the edge of my mind. I try to ask them what it is, but my voice won't work. Every time I try to mover, to speak, everything starts to tilt and spin and then I don't remember anymore. There are people always telling me things, but I can't hear them right. They look familiar sometimes, but sometimes I don't know them at all. Then I can hear a voice, someone telling me that everything is okay, that Jack is on our side again. That was it! They can't trust him! He's a traitor, he isn't on our side really. I try to tell them, and I manage a few words, but they won't listen. Why won't they listen to me? I'm Spot Conlon. They have to listen, they have to. 

And then, everything starts to blur together again, and I can't remember anymore. 


	9. Day 9

NOT MINE

A newsie sells papes, no matter what. It's one of the first things you learn. It doesn't matter if it's raining, snowing, or 40 degrees below. Doesn't matter if you're bleeding or about to faint. So here I am, selling, the day after I was so sick I couldn't move. 

Well, not selling, exactly. Distributing. For nothing. "The Newsies Banner". Jack and his friends came up with it. Our own paper, trying to get other kids to join us. It is a good idea, I've gotta admit that much. Whether or not it will work, I don't know. It's almost like Jack felt like he had to do something to make up for leaving us. Everyone accepted it, too. But not me. I don't know if I will forgive him.

I don't know if I can forgive him.


	10. Day 10

I don't own newsies…I do own Racetrack, though, to an extent. *shows off pretty engagement ring* 

So it's over. Everything's over. I'm not exactly sure what I feel. I mean, we won, we beat them. But what does it get us? Back to our old life. Back to selling, no matter what else is going on. Back to working until you drop so you can eat once a day. Back to sleeping on the streets, running from the bulls and from the other boys. Back to Brooklyn, to sinking into oblivion again, just another street rat. There's no more fame, no more larger cause to be part of. And no more watching him. No more thanking God every second that we're friends. No more cursing Him that we aren't more than that. 

Back to sitting alone on the roof every night with a razor, the red teardrops falling instead of the real ones. 


	11. Day 11

OH MY GOD! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINISHED! WOW! I would just like to say thank you to my parents for offering their support…yeah…yadda yadda yadda. 

Wow, though. This was my first story on ff.net. Scary. 

Anyway, nothing in this chapter is mine, except for Teacher! Who -is- mine! Whoooo! I own something! (And that was Pie's…)

He insisted that I talk to Teacher. I honestly had no idea why- I barely know him. He came in from Midtown during the strike, but I never said any more to him than "hey", "bye", and "alright", as far as I can remember. Still, he was terribly persistent. Kept telling me that Teacher could help me. I was beginning to get an idea as to what this was all about, but damn if I was going to tell some strange British kid that I slit my wrists.

So I slouched on the steps of the Midtown lodging house, listening to the sounds of the poker game going on inside and looking cool, untroubled, and slightly impatient. When he spoke, though, I could feel my head jerk up and I stared at him like a wild animal stares at a hunter. 

"You love Racetrack." 

And then he smiled at me, a smile that said you are welcome here, be at ease, everything is going to be all right.

And I cried.


End file.
